While Time, steady of sinew and of brow
Implacable, upwound upon its spool
The fitful hours of innocence and shame.
Nor solitary, Night in its high rule,
Reigned, for from forth the frosty bowers
Deft messengers of airy fashion came
The rude Earth to endow
With heavenly mysteries of flowers.
So sat I, and my mood grew calm and still:
Irk fretted away; care, soilure, and distress,